


Strange Little Girl, Where Are You Going?

by anemic_cinema



Series: World's End Boyfriend [16]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Child in Peril, F/F, Flashbacks, Friendship, Kissing, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Trauma, Violence Against Walkers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1442242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anemic_cinema/pseuds/anemic_cinema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: No queers after the zombie apocalypse? I don't think so.</p><p>What happened to Sophia in the woods, and how she survived.</p><p>Content Warning: Low level gore, violence against walkers, references to child abuse and domestic violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Little Girl, Where Are You Going?

The house was silent when Sophia woke up. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, and confusion settled in. She couldn't remember for a second where she was, until she turned to see her mother laying asleep by her. She remembered running out of the woods, the farm, the nice doctor, her angel-man holding her hand. 

Sophia slipped out of bed quietly, not wanting to wake up her mother. Carefully stepping across the creaky wood flood, she left the room, and went to where she remembered the bathroom was. It was nice to be able to pee in a regular bathroom again. Squatting in bushes had been kinda gross, but at the time she hadn't been too concerned. 

Her reflection in the mirror still seemed foreign now that her hair was chopped off. She studied herself, learning how she looked again. When she'd cut her hair, she hadn't used a mirror. At the time, she had only been concerned with removing what had become a danger to her survival. 

'Maybe mama can give me a haircut like Mr. Daryl.' She thought. Mr. Daryl wore his hair short. She would too. Then maybe she could become a Dixon. He'd said that Dixons were tough. She would be too. 

The urge to see him again overtook her. As quietly as she'd left the room that had been given to her, she sneaked to the door that she remembered from earlier. She slowly turned the knob, which was transparent glass, and looked like a diamond to her, and pushed the door open a crack. Peeking in, she could see someone in the bed, but it wasn't her angel-man. She could make out a mass of black hair, and she recognized him as Mr. Glenn. 

Mr. Glenn rode on the motorcycle with Mr. Daryl. It made sense that they'd share a bed. In Sophia's child-wise mind, it was obvious. She'd heard of people like that, that held hands with and kissed people that were like them, instead of with their opposites. She'd heard her father railing against them, saying they were bad and ruining things. When he wasn't around, her mother kept telling her not to listen to what he said, that he didn't know what he was talking about, but to never tell him that. Sophia hadn't understood his anger at people that he didn't even know. But then again, his anger against the people he did know and said he loved was incomprehensible as well. 

She closed the door. It was impolite to spy like this. Her stomach growled. The food earlier had been so good. Maybe there was more. Sophia wasn't sure if she was allowed to have more though. But she could get a glass of water. That should be ok. As long as she drank it quickly, washed the glass, and put it back. Then no one would notice, and no one would yell at her, and no one would raise their hands to her mother for not keeping a closer eye on her.

In the kitchen, the glasses were put high up, so she dragged a chair from the dining room to climb up on. She got a tall clear glass from the cabinet, and filled it with water from the sink. She drank it, then had another. Her mouth was so dry, and the water was so cool and sweet. It tasted different from the water from the stream. It tasted different from the water at her house. Her old house. That place was gone. She'd never see it again. All of her things would be there untouched, gathering dust for the rest of time. 

Those thoughts made her stand still, her eyes unfocused. Words jumbled together and over each other in her mind. Everything everything everything gone gone gone deadgoneeveryonedeadandgone. 

She didn't hear the noise from Andrea walking down the stairs and sneaking out the front door. She didn't hear Maggie with her, leaning in to whisper something to her and to kiss her cheek. She didn't hear the woman enter the kitchen, and see her.

“You ok?” 

Sophia heard her then, and dropped the glass in fright. It shattered around her feet. Fear seized her. She'd been bad. When she was bad she was punished. When she was bad her mother was punished too. 

“Don't move, you'll cut yourself. Stay still and I'll get the dustpan.”

The woman didn't sound mad. Her name was Maggie, Sophia remembered that. She'd bathed her, and had examined her. Her eyes had been afraid then. Sophia could understand why. If you got bit or scratched, you would become one of them. Maggie swept up the glass around her feet.

“That's better. I think I got everything, but be careful.”

“I'm sorry Miss Maggie.”

“Don't worry, it was just a glass. Are you still thirsty?” 

Sophia shook her head. To Maggie she was a sorry sight. Hair all patchy, eyes wide, her hands gripping the front of the Garfield t-shirt that had once belonged to her.

“Are you hungry?” Sophia hesitated. “I'm hungry. I was coming down for a snack. I'm gonna do that now, and if you want one too, just tell me.” It was a lie, but Maggie could see that Sophia was too afraid to ask. On their way to and from the pharmacy, Glenn had told her about the others. How T-Dog was sweet even though he looked tough, how Dale thought of everyone else's well being, how Andrea took no shit, how Carol and Sophia had survived something more awful than walkers. This kid needed love, tenderness, and nourishing food like no one else. 

Maggie pulled out a portion of chicken leg, some bread, and a jar of mayonnaise from the fridge. While Sophia watched her, she picked the meat off of the bone, and set it on a plate. She spread mayonnaise on the bread, and then went back to the fridge for lettuce. She washed a leaf, reddish-green from their garden, and placed in along with the meat between the bread. She cut the sandwich in half, and went into the dining room, taking the chair that Sophia had dragged out with her. 

The little girl followed her, and sat down next to her. Grabbing a napkin from the holder at the center of the table, Maggie placed one half of the sandwich on it, and pushed the plate with the other towards Sophia.

“I don't like eating by myself. Have some.” 

The little girl devoured her half while Maggie watched. “You feeling ok?”

Sophia nodded. The food was making her stomach calm down. Maggie gave her the second half of the sandwich.

“You don't want it?” She looked at the brunette, not sure if she should accept it.

“Nah, my eyes were bigger than my stomach.” Her smile was gentle, and Sophia decided that she liked her. She scarfed down the rest of the sandwich, and wiped her hands and mouth on the napkin. The food was making her feel sleepy again.

“I think you should go back to bed now. You need your sleep.” Maggie stood up. “I do too.” 

Sophia nodded and followed her back upstairs. Before she snuck back into her room, she waved at the brunette, smiling at her. She smiled and waved back before she went into her own room. Yes, Sophia was sure that she liked her. 

Her mother was still asleep. She crawled back under the covers, and snuggled close to her. The night was warm, but she wanted to be in the warmth of her mother. Closing her eyes, she tried to fall asleep without thinking of the abandoned house. Of the walker on the stairs. Of the white flowers that couldn't cover the smell of death.

**

She was running. The only sound in her ears was that of her own heart and her blood furiously flowing through it, carrying oxygen to the rest of her body, allowing her to pump her skinny legs and leap over the fallen branches. Had anyone living seen her, they would have thought it was a deer who'd taken human form. 

The church had offered no sanctuary. It was full of THEM. That word screamed inside her head, and made her run as fast as she could through the woods. They hadn't seen her, she didn't think. Better safe than sorry. 

So she ran. Ran until her lungs felt like they would burst, and her legs felt like they would no longer carry her. She only stopped when she came to the stream. It was almost wide enough to be called a river. The drop off down to the banks of it was so sudden she almost tumbled down face first, catching herself on a branch at the last minute. 

Sophia stood and looked over the water. It didn't look deep. She could cross it. Once she could breathe again. 

She forced herself to take deep breaths. The air of the woods was slightly damp, and cool. The sun had not get begun to burn bright. As bright as it was, it would not burn brighter than that building in Atlanta. 

Once her heart beat returned to normal, she carefully still down the drop off. The banks of the river were muddy, and her shoes squelched into it. The sound and the sensation made her scalp shiver. Carefully, she stepped into the water. It was shallow and the bottom was covered in rocks and pebbles. She could see things darting beneath the surface. Some things were still alive. 

Thirst hit her, and she knelt down and began scooping up water with the palm of her hand. That wasn't enough. She got down on her hands and began sucking up the water directly with her mouth. It was cold, and tasted like mud and rocks and like how rotting leaves smell. But she didn't stop. The water made her lips, hands and knees go numb. The rocks were jagged under the palm of her right hand. She was still holding her doll in her left. It was half-submerged now, it's dirty face looking up at her. 

'You look like me now.'

The sound that came behind her froze her. She recognized the rattle and the groan. She bolted upright, and began to run through the water, the rocks slick under her tennis shoes. She fell. No. She didn't want to die here, not today, it wasn't going to happen, she didn't die when her father had tried to touch her, she wasn't burned in the destruction of the building they called the See-Dee-See, she would not die.

She needed to see her mother and her angel-man at least one last time before she did.

The opposite side of the stream didn't have a sharp drop off like the other. So she turned and kept running. The rattle was still behind her. She looked. She wished she hadn't. What kept making the rattle was horrible, thin lips drawn over long teeth, skin the color of wax, all dressed in normal clothes like someone had taken a monster and played dress-up.

'Mama' was the only word she could think of. 

She kept running. Every part of her was sore. Her stomach was cramping up. She needed to pee. She was crying again.

She fell. She resigned herself. She was ready to die.

But she didn't.

The walker had been left behind. 

Doubled over, she retched up some of the water. It tasted worse coming back up. 

She staggered up, and kept moving, slower this time. The realization that she'd left her doll in the stream came and went. If she was going to die, she wouldn't need it anymore. Let the creatures that lived in the stream have it. Maybe there was a mermaid who hid there who would take care of it. She crouched by a tree and peed.

The sun began to burn hot through the tree branches. Sweat was trickling down her back. She stumbled through the woods. No longer a deer. If someone had seen her now, they would have guessed she was a walker already. 

The smell hit her first. It smelled spicy, familiar, flowery. The bushes appeared to her, and she wondered if they were real. The smell was real enough. She touched every flower she could reach with her hands. Cherokee roses. Tears that turned into flowers. Proof undeniable to herself that magic was real, that the fairy tales she loved so much had to be true. That every manner of mythical creature had existed and existed now. 

They had to, if tears could turn into flowers, and dead people could keep walking. She leaned in and brushed her nose against the center of one of the flowers. It's smell was so nice and she was so tired. Maybe she could crawl underneath the roses and fall asleep.

The hands that grabbed her hair and shirt surprised her. She pulled away, and there was a blinding pain that radiated from the back of her scalp down to her entire body. She saw the walker before she started running again. It was looking at her the same way her father did. Its eyes were cloudy white, and she could see all of its teeth. There were no lips left on it's face. It looked like a mass of raw hamburger with teeth and eyes set into it. 

Despite her terror, no screams escaped her. Her tongue felt too swollen, and her lips felt to dry to. She kept trying to run, but her legs would not obey her brain yelling at them to move faster.

The walker hobbled close behind her. It was gaining. She couldn't lose it this time. It was going to end here. She wanted her mommy so bad... 

Except there was a clearing and there were more Cherokee roses.

Except there was a house. 

Except the door was open.

Sophia got up the porch stairs. The smell of the walker was all she could smell, the flowers in the midday heat couldn't hide it. She burst through the door, tried closing it, but the walker pushed through. There were stairs in front of her, and she fell onto them. She pushed herself up them on her behind. The walker tripped on the first step, and reached up to grab her. She was faster. 

“Ya gotta get them in the skull. It's the brains. Ya gotta destroy that. Nothin' else works.” 

Mr. Daryl had said that. She'd overheard him the first night he'd arrived at the camp with his brother. She had been so scared of the both of them. They looked like wild animals wearing the skin of men to her. Like they would turn into something frightening under a full moon. Even then, she couldn't stop staring at Mr. Daryl. He looked so strong, but the way he looked at people was like he was afraid of everyone. He'd been talking to Mr. Shane. The sheriff deputy. Her dad didn't like him. 

Up along the stairs were posts that held up the railing. 

“It's the brains.”

They all looked loose and broken. 

“Ya gotta destroy it.”

Her hands closed around one, and yanked hard. It came off with a crack. It was heavier than she thought it would be. The walker was trying to push itself up now. It was looking at her, and she realized that like her father. It wanted to eat her alive, just like he had. 

“Nothin' else works.” 

She had the advantage of height. She kicked out with her wet, muddy shoe, and it caught the walker's face with a crunch. The blood that poured out smelled foul. But she couldn't afford to gag. She raised the wood post over her head and brought it down with a purpose that made her blood feel as cold as the water in the stream.

“Ya gotta get them in the skull.”

The crack and the crunch of bone was now a sound that she knew. The force of the blow made her tumble forward, almost landing on top of the walker. The post was sticking out from what had once been a head. Shards of bone and gobs of gore encircled it. But it wasn't moving. 

Sophia puked out the rest of the water, followed by bloody spit, followed by green bile. 

**

Images of hungry eyes and blood woke her up. The light was gray, but it was morning. The Garfield t-shirt was soaked around the armpits and the neck. Sophia felt nauseous and afraid. Her whimpers woke Carol up.

“Baby, shh. You're ok.” She sat up and wrapped her arms around her shivering daughter. “Do you need to go to the bathroom? Are you feeling sick?”

Sophia swallowed. The nausea was fading, but the image of the brained walker, and the memory of it's odor haunted her. “I'm ok now mama.”

“Did you have a nightmare? Talk to me honey.” Carol kissed her sweaty brow, and dried it off using the corner of one of the sheets. 

“No.” Sophia buried her face against her mother's chest. She smelled like home and like love. She wouldn't, couldn't tell her what she'd seen. Her mother had protected her. It was her turn now. From now on, she'd be the one to keep them safe. She had a hatchet, and she'd use it to kill every walker in the world, making notches on her belt as she took one after the other out. No one would be hurt by them ever again by the time she was through. When she'd ride through towns on her motorcycle, other survivors would whisper that it was none other than Sophia “Killer” Peletier-Dixon. Everyone would know her name, and fear it. Even the walkers. 

Thinking that made the nightmare fade enough to where she could close her eyes again.

Carol held her, worried as she looked down at her silent, stone-faced daughter. What had happened to her in those woods? Sophia closed her eyes again and her breathing became sleepy and shallow again. Her mother found it impossible to fall back asleep, instead she just watched Sophia, and held onto her until the sunlight turned golden and she began to hear footsteps through the house. 

**

Sophia sat on the steps for a long time, trying to gather the courage to move around the walker. She was almost certain it was dead, really dead, but in the back of her mind she kept thinking that it could rise at any moment. But she had to close the front door. If she didn't, more things could come in after her.

She wasn't sure how long it took her, but when she'd run into the house the sun was still high in the sky. As she tiptoed around the corpse, she could see long shadows start to fall. By the time she'd passed it, and rushed down the remaining stairs to slam the door shut, the light was golden. Time was irrelevant though. Sophia only could see time in terms of day and night. 

There was a hutch by the door, so the little girl pushed it in front of it to keep it shut. It was made of heavy wood, and it took her a while to get it where it needed to be. It's legs caught on the wood floor. It wasn't flush, but it would do for now. 

Exhaustion was threatening to overtake her, but she had to check the rest of the house. That's what Mr. Daryl would have done. On the first floor there was a living room with a rotting couch covered with a dusty blanket in it, a dining room, a kitchen. There was a door that led to the outside in the very back of the house, in the hallway between the living room and kitchen. That one was locked, thankfully. The pantry in the kitchen still had canned goods in it. Sophia rummaged around to try and find a can opener, but nothing doing. She did find a hatchet though. Not sure what else to do, she cleaned it's head off with the edge of her shirt. There was also a pair of scissors and some spoons and forks. 

The hatchet now shone dully at her. She slipped it in the waistband of her capris, not sure what she could do with it, but feeling better for feeling the weight of it there. She felt the back of her head where the walker had grabbed her. There was a bald spot there now, and she could feel something crusty there. When she pulled away her fingers, there were flecks of dried blood on them. 

The scissors proved to be useful, and the rest of her blonde hair soon was gone, fallen to the floor around her feet. It was difficult to do without a mirror, but it needed to be done. The light was growing was fading outside. Before she lost all of the light, she grabbed the blanket from the living room and shook it out some. A cloud of dust flew from it. 

Inside the pantry, she arranged it on the ground. Small, cramped spaces were safe. Open spaces weren't. The only thing she could open was a tin of sardines. They tasted oily and fishy, and made her thirsty. But water would wait until tomorrow. 

Later, Sophia would recall that she couldn't have spent more than two or three days in that abandoned house, but at the time, it seemed forever. She wasn't able to find water, and going deep into the wood held the promise of her getting lost again. With the hatchet, she broke apart cans of fruit, and drank the liquid they'd been packed in. When those were gone, she did the same to the vegetables. The taste was horrible, but she was thirsty. 

When she woke up the last day at that house, she'd decided to try and make it back to the highway. She pushed the hutch away from the door, but something made her pause. The walker was still on the steps, slowly becoming bloated and putrid. Flies buzzed around it, the only noise in the house. She remembered the day that Mr. Glenn had come back from Atlanta in the red car, and Mr. Daryl had screamed about his brother being killed. She'd heard him talk about how he'd covered himself in guts to walk past the geeks, so that they couldn't smell him. 

The hallway closet contained an old jacket. It was too big for her, and would be hot, but what Mr. Glenn had said kept playing in her mind. 

“They couldn't smell us, 'cause of the blood and the guts.”

She covered her mouth and nose when she got close to the walker. Using her feet, she pressed the outside of the jacket against the hole she'd made. It wasn't enough, so she got the scissors. She didn't want to use her hatchet, because it meant that she would have to clean it. The smell made her gag, but she stabbed down with the scissors anyway, dragging them down to open the walker's back. Soon the jacket was covered in blood, and she carefully put it on, scared of what might happen if any got on her skin. 

She left the house behind, the smell of the Cherokee roses still strong in the air. The stench coming from her soon overtook it. 

The events of that day often became confused in her mind. She wasn't thinking clearly then, the thirst and the hunger too great for her to do so. So in that moment when she heard the footsteps behind her, the only logical course of action that she could think of was to draw her weapon and attack. 

When she saw who she'd knocked down, despite her dehydration, tears had burst forth. Her prayers had been answered. 

**

Glenn woke up to Daryl drooling on his shirt. Sometime during the night, he'd had the presence of mind to put his shirt and his underwear back on. Daryl hadn't bothered, and was still naked under the covers. He considered pushing the older man off of him, but decided that a little saliva wouldn't hurt him. 

He lightly stroked Daryl's hair. He looked so sweet in that moment. It was funny, when he'd first met him, that was not a word he would have chosen to describe him. Dirty, angry, dangerous, yes. But not sweet, or gentle. Except even then Glenn had been fascinated with him. He was so different from anyone else he'd met. Out of habit he'd been nice to him and even to his brother during those first days. Daryl's gruff indifference and Merle's outright hatred had made that impossible to sustain, so he'd settled on general civility as a way to avoid tangling with them. 

Now look where he was. Holding a man who he'd been convinced hated him just for being who he was. A man who'd just confessed to him that he loved him, so much so that when he'd been in pain the only thing that kept him going was that love. 

'Please don't screw this up Daryl. Don't make me regret loving you.' Glenn thought to himself. Too often, he'd been with people who were all sweetness at the beginning, but soon revealed themselves to be lousy assholes who said dumb shit about who he was. He could still remember the hurt that had come from his first boyfriend making dumb dog-eating jokes, saying that Glenn had a big dick “for an Asian.” He'd apologized later, saying he was drunk, but it didn't remove the hurt. Glenn had smiled and accepted the apology, not knowing what else to do. It was little aggressions like that that he had to live with, deciding where to draw the line and whether it was worth dealing with other people's huffing and puffing over being told that their behavior was hurtful. 

Daryl was trying, and Glenn hoped to God he'd keep it up. The older man began to wake up in his arms, groaning a little and moving his limbs. He looked up at Glenn, his narrow blue eyes looking even more narrow. He had little crusts of drool around his mouth, and sleep in his eyes, but looked like the cutest thing on earth.

“Shit, did I drool on ya?” He mumbled, moving onto his back and wincing from a flare of pain in his side. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, but I forgive you. This time.” Glenn kissed his cheek, and Daryl turned his head so that he could kiss the younger man's mouth. “You need something for the pain?” 

Daryl nodded. It was so nice to be taken care of, but it made him feel a little strange, like he shouldn't be accepting help like this. Glenn got the pill bottle, and looked at the instructions before shaking out the right dosage into the cap.

“You gotta take these with food. Hold on and I'll get you something to eat.”

“No you don't. Done took shit like that on an empty stomach, 'sfine.” The pain was starting to really let itself known in his side and leg.

“Fine, take them, but I'm gonna be right back here with food in a minute.” Glenn stood and put on his pants. He was glad he'd thought of bringing a change of clothes for himself. 

“You don't gotta baby me.” Daryl grunted, sitting up a little so he could swallow the pills.

“I'm not babying you. I want you to feel better, so I'm helping you. It's not like I'm gonna hand feed you your breakfast.” Glenn ran his hands through his hair, combing it through. Even unwashed it looked so good framing his round face. “I want you to get better.” 

Daryl didn't say anything to that, and Glenn went to get him food. There was no water, so he just swallowed the pills dry, trying to not let them touch his tongue. Painkillers always made him want to gag because of their taste. Merle loved that about them, and always said that the taste was just a way to make the good feelings they brought feel even better. That the companies had to make them taste bad because if they were sweet everyone would be popping them like candies.

The older man couldn't remember a time when anyone had said that to him, or done anything like this for him really. Not even from Merle, who always prided himself on taking care of Daryl, or at least that's what he would say to anyone who would listen. He talked a lot about how he was the reason Daryl had survived, how he'd taken care of him when their father was too fucked up to do it, which was almost every day. 

It had always made Daryl mad when Merle talked like that, because it wasn't really true. Most of the time, Merle had been in and out of correctional facilities, and the times he was home he was more concerned about running with his pal than being around Daryl. He'd give him money, and sometimes spend time with him, but mostly Daryl grew up left to his own devices. That's why he loved the woods so much. There he'd never had to worry about other people. There he'd felt like he could be away from the loneliness, even though he was alone.

Glenn came back with toast and scrambled eggs and a glass of water. “Dude, I hope we stay here forever. I could get used to real eggs again.” He handed Daryl the plate and put the glass on the beside table. Daryl ate, trying not to focus on the pain. Once the pills began working their narcotic magic, the pain became dulled and Daryl felt better for it, if not still tired. 

“Herschel said he'd check on you in a little bit. I gotta go take care of some stuff. You gonna be ok.” 

“Yeah.” He squeezed Glenn's knee. “Thanks for stayin' last night.”

Glenn smiled at him. “No problem. At least you didn't snore too loud.”

He looked so sweet, and it made Daryl want to grab him and tell him he was going to stay in bed with him all day, and that Rick or Shane could take care of the chores themselves.

“It's no inconvenience to share a bed with you.” Glenn grasped his hand. “It's too bad-” he sighed, and scratched his jaw using his shoulder, “-too bad that we can just have a bed. Being stuck in tents kinda sucks.”

“Yeah. I missed this.” Daryl tugged him close and they embraced. It would have to be brief, but they both needed to be in each other's arms. 

“Not to mention you can hear everything that everyone's doing. There's like, zero privacy.”

“Yeah, everyone knows everyone's business. 'Cept me. I don't notice shit.” Daryl kissed Glenn's forehead with affection. “Hell, you had to spell out that Shane and Lori were foolin' around.”

Glenn blanched. “Oh my god...Daryl, I didn't tell you.”

“What?”

Glenn sat up and looked at the older man. “When I went to the pharmacy...I forgot to say anything about it because of what happened, and I was kinda sworn to secrecy, but I know you won't say anything about it. It's Lori...she asked me to get her a fucking pregnancy test.”

“Goddamn. You think she's knocked up?” 

“Maybe. Christ, what a time to get pregnant.” Glenn sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wonder if she's talked to Rick about it.”

Daryl could think of only one follow up question.

“Do you think he's the father?”

**

Before the day was done, Sophia had convinced Carol to buzz off the rest of her hair. It didn't take much, as the little girl's hair was as pathetic as pathetic could get. Sophia stood in front of the sink in the bathroom, and Carol ran the clippers over her ragged hair. Sophia watched as she began to look less like a busted up rag doll, but like some of the boys that had been in her class at school. She thought she looked tough, like she did belong on a motorcycle with her hatchet. 

“There you go baby. It'll grow back soon.”

'I don't want it to.' Sophia thought to herself. “Can I go show Mr. Daryl?” 

“I think you'd better let him rest honey.”

“Please? I'll be quick, I just wanna show him real quick.”

Carol sighed. “Alright, but I'm going with you, and if he's asleep we can't wake him up.”

Sophia nodded, dusting off loose hairs from her neck. They felt itchy. She knocked on the door to the room, and Mr. Daryl responded with a “Yeah?” That was enough for her to burst into the room.

“Mr. Daryl, look at my hair!” She pointed to her head.

The older man smiled at her. “Look at you, you got the same haircut as Shane.”

Sophia wrinkled her nose and frowned. “I didn't wanna look like Mr. Shane, I wanted to look like you.”

He looked at her, his smile fading a little. “Well I suppose you kinda do, if my hair was shorter. Once yers grows out it'll start to look like mine.” 

Carol put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. “Ok Sophia, you showed him. Now it's time to leave Mr. Daryl alone.” She gave him an apologetic look, which he waved off. 

“It's no trouble. I was going a little stir crazy in here by myself.” He sat up with a wince, the sheet bunching around his waist. “I can't spend all day laying around. Sophia, gimme a hand and pass me that bag?”

The little girl grabbed it off of the floor and handed it to him. She kept looking at him like a puppy does to someone who's deigned to pay attention to it. He took out a pair of pants and a pair of socks and slowly dressed himself under the sheets.

“I can put your socks on for you.” Sophia said.

“No need, I got it.” He bent his uninjured leg to put on the sock, the other one required a little more creative bending on his part. “You can pass me my boots though.” 

Carol watched her daughter wait on Daryl, trying so hard to be helpful. Sophia looked at him like he wasn't just a hero, but something even more amazing. She remembered the drawing, Sophia had tried to hide it from her, but she'd seen it in her pile of artwork. It made her worry a little, because she wasn't sure if Daryl would let her down or not. He'd been so kind to her so far, but he was only human. As much as Carol trusted him, she knew that no one could live up to such high esteem. 

Once he was dressed, Daryl stood up. “I need some fresh air. C'mon kiddo, let's go show everyone else yer sweet new haircut.”

Sophia beamed, and Carol forgot her worries for the moment. Anyone who could make her daughter smile like that was as good as gold as far as she was concerned.


End file.
